


Tidal Shift

by magicianlogician12



Series: You, Me, and the Sea [11]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25292224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicianlogician12/pseuds/magicianlogician12
Summary: The seas split, and both Alliance and Horde are trapped in the underwater kingdom of Nazjatar, at the mercy of Queen Azshara. With the sudden and devastating loss of her ship, the Silent Tide, Captain Shadeweaver embarks on a desperate mission to retrieve the last of her missing crew–with unexpected help.
Relationships: Jaina Proudmoore/Original Female Character(s)
Series: You, Me, and the Sea [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1832245
Kudos: 4





	1. Part One

Miri has had centuries to become acquainted with the tides.

She’s well aware, naturally, that she might not be the  _ foremost _ authority on sailing in the entirety of Azeroth–she’s fairly sure the Kul Tirans have that on lockdown–but she knows enough to tell when something is amiss, when the winds are off, when the slap of water against the  _ Tide _ ’s hull resonates in such a way that it makes her skin crawl.

Today is one of those times.

At the helm, she stands with Jaina and the Gilnean king–she’s fairly sure he’s forgotten her name just like she’s pretending to have forgotten his–and in the distance, far in the distance, she can just barely see the silhouette of Horde vessels. Alliance ships, some of them belonging to the 7th Legion, some belonging to the Kul Tiran fleet, follow the  _ Silent Tide _ in a fan behind them, giving the scouting vessel enough distance to do its job properly.

With a spyglass held up to her remaining eye, Miri twists her lip. “Can’t see them through the fog.”

“Then we need to close distance.” King Greymane speaks first, and Miri’s scowl deepens.

“I already think we’re too close as it is.” she snaps in response, not looking away from where the silhouettes of enemy ships do nothing to ease the tension in her spine. “The  _ Tide _ isn’t a front-line warship, it’s a scouting and raiding vessel. We should pull back and let the rest of the fleet catch up.”

“They’ll catch up when we engage the Horde, and your little stunt at Dazar’alor proves that assertion false.”

Angrily collapsing the spyglass, Miri jabs a finger into the worgen king’s chest, and he growls, but she refuses to give ground. “This ship has the only remaining members of my family aboard it,  _ your majesty. _ I’m sure you can understand I’d rather not throw them into the meat grinder without a damn good reason, and blindly rushing in alone to sate your bloodlust doesn’t qualify. Saving the Lord Admiral  _ does. _ ”

Stalking away before either he or Jaina can say something to try and defuse the situation–or escalate it, in Genn’s case–Miri goes to where Elanarel is standing at the bow, one hand on her sword hilt. Tixxi stands at the ship’s very front, her hands making cyclical motions as her tidal magic keeps the  _ Tide _ on its course. “All quiet?” Elanarel speaks first.

“For now.” Miri drops her elbows onto the wooden railing, letting some of the tension in her spine relax, if not drain away completely. “Until the Gilnean king decides his vengeance mission is more important than my ship.”

“I’m sure your Lord Admiral won’t let that happen.” Elanarel doesn’t glance over, but Miri appreciates that someone’s eyes are on the horizon, even if they aren’t hers.

“The elements are…uneasy, Miri.” Tixxi says suddenly, most of her attention still focused on their course, but she turns briefly to meet Miri’s eye before looking away again. “Can’t quite put my finger on it…”

“I know.” Miri purses her lips and lets her jaw tighten again as she hears the slap of water against the  _ Tide _ ’s hull, and feels that same roiling wariness in her stomach that tells her  _ something _ is amiss. She’d be a fool to ignore it, but there’s little she can do until something actually happens.

It’s the feeling Miri hates the most.

“Miri.”

Miri sighs and turns over one shoulder, meeting Jaina’s eye from where she stands a few yards away. “What is it?”

“We will need to strike soon.” Jaina hesitates, then continues, “If you want to pull the  _ Tide _ back–”

“Just tell me where we’ll be most useful, Proudmoore.” Miri interjects, trying to keep the worst of her exasperation from her voice. “And let’s hope we don’t get ourselves in too big of a mess to get back out of.”

After a charged pause, Jaina relents. “We’ll be sending forward two vessels from the 7th Legion escort as a vanguard, and Genn will be joining them. Archdruid Grimm flew him over.”

From the helm, Miri watches as two Legion vessels abruptly pull in front of the  _ Tide _ , moving at best speed. The sight should have made Miri feel better, but her nerves only deepen as the waves crest and flow. “I…All right. Fine. What do you want me to do?”

“The  _ Tide _ ’s job is effectively done.” Jaina says, and something in her face softens. “You can pull back and remain as auxiliary support if we–”

_ “Captain!” _ Tixxi gasps, just as the uneasy twisting in Miri’s gut turns to dread.

From far ahead, even ahead of the Horde vessels they pursued, a beam of light emerges from the waves that blinds everyone on the deck for a split second, and the waves heave the  _ Tide _ back as Miri regains her balance. It should have been a single rocking thrust upon the waves before settling, perhaps another after it, smaller, but if anything, the waves seem to fight  _ harder _ to topple them over.

And when Miri finally stands firm again, and looks over the bow of her ship, she sees why: the sea itself has parted before them.

With the  _ Tide _ –and the rest of the fleet–heading right for the abyss below.

_ “Pull the sails!” _ Miri yells before she’s even fully turned around, grabbing one of the ropes herself to pull it taut. _ “Get this ship turned around! Now!” _

Even as her crew rushes to obey her orders, tugging lines and spinning the navigator’s steering wheel, Tixxi rising to her feet and summoning the full breadth of her shaman abilities, Miri watches the fast-approaching edge where there had previously been only the endless ocean, and knows it will not be enough.

Lurching backwards as the rope is yanked abruptly from her hands by the force of the gale winds that have come to speed them to their doom, Miri feels a hand clasp her forearm, and looks up into Jaina’s face, for a split second, filled with terror.

Miri’s stomach drops out from under her as the  _ Tide _ falls, and only darkness remains.

* * *

Awakening in pain is an experience Miri would rather not have, but she supposes it’s better than the alternative.

Every muscle aches, and her neck feels as though whiplash will be paying her a visit sooner rather than later. Her limbs are intact, though, and aside from a few cuts and scrapes–and seaweed, wrapped around her ribs–she’s relatively unharmed.

She’d wager that not many had been as fortunate, and she wasn’t exactly a wagering type anymore.

Groaning, Miri rolls over and sloppily untangles the seaweed from where it traps her in a sinister embrace, casting the fronds aside before opening her eye and coughing out something that tastes entirely too much like it might be  _ sand _ .

Her blades, mercifully, are half-buried in a mound of seaweed and muck nearby, and Miri yanks them both free, shaking them as clean as she can before half walking, half stumbling further down the cliffside where she landed. Voices just ahead tell her that perhaps others survived.

_ Moon and tides, let Jaina be among them. Please. _

Leaping the final outcrop, Miri lands with a grunt, and another sound, the sound of wood creaking far above her head, accompanies it. Letting out a breath, Miri turns her head, looks up…

…and sees the  _ Silent Tide _ , caught on two reef outcroppings, split in half like a child’s toy ripped asunder.

Her home, her  _ only _ home for centuries, decimated almost beyond recognition, pieces of its hull scattered along the cliffs and crates from its holds broken and shattered along the rocks, holding supplies and valuables both, to say nothing of the  _ intangible _ things lost from within.

Centuries of laughter, of loss, of plunder stored within its decks. Her desk, worn smooth by the countless years she had written upon it, lost. Her effects, everything she owned, stored in the captain’s quarters–what was left of them–lost. Her  _ people _ , missing at the very least, in the middle of hostile territory, or dead.

Miri’s stomach drops, and her knees give out a split second later.

_ “Captain!” _ someone yells, but it feels distant, meant for someone else, until a hand lands heavily on her shoulder and she looks up into Jaina’s face.

She wants to feel relief, but her grief swells and overtakes it. “Hey, Proudmoore.” Miri manages, hoarse and choked. “Glad both our reputations for being unkillable are still intact.”

“Miri…” Jaina keeps her hand on Miri’s shoulder as they both look up at the shattered wreck of the  _ Tide _ , “…I’m so sorry.”

“Well,” Miri tries to inject a note of humor into it, though there is nothing at all funny about this situation, “I suppose that means the Alliance is stuck with me after all. Can’t very well leave without a ship.”

Jaina’s jaw tightens, and she seems about to respond, but another voice cuts through the air instead, and Miri stiffens as King Greymane calls, “If the captain is quite done with such theatrics over a broken ship, we need to get moving.”

Anger, a rapidly-smoldering fire in her blood, gets Miri back on her feet, and deafens her to Jaina saying, “Miri, don’t–”

“ _ You _ .” Miri hisses, closing distance and watching Genn’s face change from mere tension to swiftly-intensifying wariness, “You have the  _ gall _ to condescend to me after  _ your _ vengeance mission cost me my bloody ship?!”

“This was a mission for the Alliance, and casualties–”

“That ship was my  _ home! _ ” the statement is ripped from Miri’s chest like a knife and hurled at the Gilnean king, coated with the poison of her grief. Her composure slips for a split second while her fury catches up, and her tone shifts into something raw and unhinged. “I would think you of all people would understand that–or maybe you’re too blinded by your need for revenge. How many have you already gotten killed in that pursuit, over the years, hmm? How many  _ more _ will have to die before you realize  _ your _ mission isn’t the only one that matters?!”

Genn has gone disturbingly still, and yet his voice stays steady, laced with a thread of fury held just barely in check, “You know  _ nothing _ of what I have lost.”

“I don’t?” Miri’s laugh is all hysterical rage. “I think  _ you _ know nothing of the loss you cause  _ others! _ All the dead from Stormheim, all the dead here, who knows how many more–your family suffered at the Horde’s hands, fine. Who in the Alliance  _ hasn’t? _ More to the point, where does it stop? Who else will have to die before you step back and see how much blood has been spilled, how much has been lost? Do you even  _ care? _ ” Miri closes the remaining distance between them until she can stand close enough to stare down her nose at Genn, whose stillness has turned into an uncontrollable tremor. “I don’t think you  _ do _ . I think you’d get all of us killed if it meant even the slightest chance of destroying Sylvanas Windrunner. I think you’d get me, Jaina, every Alliance soldier on this beach, and your  _ other _ children killed, and say it was  _ worth it!” _

With a lupine snarl, Genn shifts into worgen form and lunges, but Miri has her weapons at the ready, and blocks the strike, bowling him over for a split second before he returns to all fours. Dimly, Miri is aware of Jaina and someone else calling for both of them to stay their hands, but whether blinded by rage or grief or both, neither Miri nor Genn backs down, and Genn leaps as Miri holds one blade aloft, ready to block.

_ “Stop this!” _

One voice cuts through the haze of rage, and both Miri and Genn hesitate for a split second, in which time roots erupt from the sandy ground to wrap around their wrists and ankles, twining around their arms and legs, pulling them physically apart. Miri loses her grip on her blades, heaving for breath with the corner of her eye stinging and hot, but she looks up for the source of the shout.

Archdruid Jesselle Grimm approaches from around a shattered piece of a 7th Legion vessel, her eyes glowing with nearly-unheard-of fury as her body burns bright with a silvery aura of astral power. One of her clawed worgen hand’s fingers are coiled into a loose fist, glowing with verdant emerald energy that Miri assumes is holding their prison of roots and vines secure. With the other, she makes an incredulous gesture. “Do we not have more important things to worry about? We have naga closing in on our forces, which are rapidly dwindling and separated from one another, we are trapped in a  _ hole _ in the  _ sea _ , and the two of you descend into squabbling like  _ children?!” _

“But–” Miri begins, at the same time Genn says, “Archdruid–”

_ “Stop.” _ Jesselle’s gaze sharpens, fixing on them both. “We cannot afford to be at each other’s throats. Infighting is just what Azshara wants…as well as the Horde. If we let them divide us further, they’ve already won.” Glancing between them, she points a finger at each of them. “I expect better from both of you, and I know you are capable of it. Either discuss this like adults later or simply stay apart from one another, our current situation notwithstanding, but we must work together and move  _ now _ if we want to help anyone who’s still alive. Can you do that?”

Her hand holding the roots doesn’t budge, and Miri assumes she’ll hold them like that til they agree to behave. She hasn’t felt this chastised since living at home, over a thousand years ago, and chastised by someone less than a tenth of her age, no less. With a sigh, Miri relents, as the force of her fury simmers to a manageable level, leaving a burn of shame on the back of her neck. “Fine. I can set this aside for now.”

“Genn?” Jesselle prompts, face hard.

He’s silent for a beat, then releases a long breath as he shifts back into human form. “Very well.” he bites the words out, gaze focused firmly on the sand beneath his boots, more out of shame than sheer petulance, she thinks.

With a gesture, the vines and roots vanish, and Miri rubs her wrists to get the feeling back into them. Genn refuses to meet her gaze when he rises, and Miri scoffs as she turns to grab her blades from where she dropped them. “What now?”

“We ought to try and gather the rest of our forces.” Jaina says, all cool professionalism, and Miri winces. Maybe throwing stones at Genn for being ashamed is hypocritical of her after all. She glances once more at the empty husk of the  _ Tide _ , and a lump sits heavy in her throat.

“I need to find the rest of my crew.” Somehow Miri manages to say it without her voice breaking, though it’s a near thing.

“If they made it out, it’s likely they’ll be with the rest of the 7th Legion survivors.” Jesselle tells her, not unkindly. “I’m sorry, Captain–we can’t afford to split up again.”

She knows it’s the smart thing to do, but it still takes no small amount of effort to turn away from the ship and follow in Jaina’s footsteps, to the edge of the waterfall and sheer cliffside. “Sooner we get started, the better, then.”

* * *

None of Jaina’s time in Nazjatar has been spent idle.

From the moment she’d awoken after the crash, she searched for other signs of life, the survivors, and gathered them in one group. She studies the shape of the reefs as they wait for others to join them, to trickle in from nearby wrecks, wonders if they are all natural or if Queen Azshara has them constructed in certain ways. She sees the shape of ruins, far in the distance, and wishes, helplessly and futilely, they might have the time to study them.

And now, they traverse this hostile land, weapons held at the ready, having fought off naga ambushes every step of the way and freeing the 7th Legion survivors they come across, sending them back to Shandris’ and Crusader Lord Greymane’s temporary foothold in the caves. Out of the corner of her eye, Jaina can see Miri scanning the landscape around them, searching, with increasing amounts of desperation, for her crew.

By the time they are saved from another naga ambush by the timely arrival of an ankoan called Blademaster Okani, she can see how Miri’s face has turned stoic and hard, her grip on her blades turning white-knuckle tight, the look of someone who has lost all hope. She aches to reach out and comfort her, but the far more pressing necessity of fighting for their survival takes priority here.

Hours of navigating the reefs and outcrops later, they pass a sandy curve and their ankoan rescuer tells them, “The camp is less than an hour’s walk from–”

_ “Captain!” _

Faster than Jaina can see, Miri jerks around and takes off down the hill, where a troll with familiar blue skin and white hair is approaching her at a stilted, off-balance run. Jaina follows without thinking, with the Archdruid just behind, and senses the hesitation of the rest of their group before they, too, change direction.

“Tzu, thank the tides!” Miri flings her arms around the troll’s neck for a few seconds before she leans back, her face newly awash with desperation and fear. “Tell me the others are alive.”

“Alive, for now, but they’re gonna need ya help to get outta here.” Tzu’jai jerks his head in the direction of a hidden alcove. “ _ Now _ .”

“What is it?” Miri asks as they go, half jogging. Jaina has her staff in hand, eyes flickering around to ensure they aren’t about to be ambushed again.

“Tix has got a broken wrist, and a leg, but she ain’t the one I’m worried about.” Tzu’jai leads them around the cave’s entrance, and Jaina hears Miri gasp in horror a split second before she rounds the corner herself.

Tixxi Steamcoil, Miri’s goblin tinkerer and engineer, hovers anxiously nearby, a makeshift splint holding her leg steady, and before her lays Elanarel Heartreaver, Miri’s closest friend out of her remaining crew, with a splintered piece of driftwood sticking out of her ribs, ringed by bright red blood. Miri swears under her breath and drops to her knees. “Damn it all,  _ damn _ it all, talk to me, El, come on.”

A weak, thready voice emerges, but even from this distance Jaina can’t hear the words. She turns to their ankoan guide, who instinctively straightens. “We need to hurry–I imagine she won’t be the only one who needs urgent medical attention.”

“Tzu, can you carry Tix?” Miri asks, arms already under Elanarel’s back and legs, hefting her carefully up off the ground–Elanarel all but screams, and Miri’s voice drops into a terrified, soothing tone Jaina has never heard, never  _ wants _ to hear from Miri again. “Shh, El, please stay with us. Look at me, no,  _ no _ , don’t look at  _ that _ ,” Miri turns around, face pressed with grim determination, “look at  _ me _ , El.”

With Tzu’jai carrying Tixxi and Miri carrying Elanarel, Jaina knows they’re vulnerable to naga ambush attempts–she risks creating a barrier around them, and says, “Stay close, and  _ hurry _ .”

Without further hesitation, their ankoan guide takes off at a brisk half-jog, but even at a fast walk, Miri keeps up with them effortlessly. Tzu’jai falls behind for a moment before regaining momentum, shaking his head.

All the way, Jaina can hear Miri talking to Elanarel in that same terrified, soft-spoken tone, the voice of a person who has lost too much today, and cannot stand to lose any more. It’s too quiet for Jaina to hear the details, but she glances back every few moments to see Miri still keeping up a steady stream of conversation, and Elanarel blinking blearily, painfully, up at her, occasionally throwing a word or two back in response.

In a time that feels both endless and instant, they arrive at the ankoan camp, and Miri bowls ahead first, Elanarel dripping blood, with the shout, “ _ Move! _ Someone get some blood-clotting powder and a few potions,  _ hurry!” _

Whether it’s the force of the captain’s command itself or Jaina’s presence nearby, two of the relatively uninjured 7th Legion survivors at the ankoan campfire leap to it, one of them in robes that says they’ve gotten lucky enough a priest survived landfall. The rest of the group splits away, but Jaina follows the procession into the structure where the most severely-wounded are being tended to.

“We need to get her leather jerkin off,” says the priest, a human man with graying salt-and-pepper hair, holding a staff faintly glowing with golden light. Miri already has a boot knife in hand, cutting away the leather of Elanarel’s armor and yanking it free as carefully as she can without disturbing the wound.

Elanarel makes another agonized sound and Jaina watches Miri rest a hand on her forehead. “Shh, El, I’m sorry, but we have to get this thing free of you.”

“It’s more than that, I’m afraid.” the priest’s face is grim. “There are splinters that will need to be removed before we can close the wound, and she’s already lost a significant amount of blood. You may not want to be here for–”

“I’m staying.” Miri says, and even without being the recipient of her gaze, Jaina can feel the moment the priest recoils just slightly with the intensity of it. “I’m staying, and I’ll do whatever you need me–” she breaks off, then swivels her head around to fix her gaze on Tzu’jai, who straightens. “Tzu. Was Eastland out there? Did you see him? Is he…?”

“Didn’t see him, cap’n.” Tzu’jai shakes his head with a somber twist of his hands. “Sorry.”

Jaina can see the moment Miri is torn down the middle, one hand on Elanarel’s forehead and already half turned around to search for her last missing crew member, and then the steel leaves her shoulders in a rush as she turns back to the bleeding blood elf on the sandy ground. “Moon and tides watch over him until I can start the search, then.”

“I can ask around to see if any of the 7th Legion saw him.” Jaina offers immediately, and Miri blinks, as if she’s surprised Jaina is still there.

“Would you?” she asks, and her voice is still desperate, still terrified, so openly raw and vulnerable, and something breaks in Jaina’s chest.

Jaina kneels at Miri’s side long enough to take her face in her hands and press a kiss to her forehead before leaning back. “I will. Stay here.”

Miri’s chin quivers, and her remaining eye shimmers with unshed tears, but with a single sob disguised cleverly as a cough, Miri dashes the tears from her eye and manages, “Thank you, Jaina,” before turning back around.

Blademaster Okani waits at the campfire, where most of the rest of their party sits, exhaustion written in every line on their faces. “You may take lodging with us tonight,” the ankoan tells them, “and tomorrow we can discuss our next move against the naga.”

“Thank you.” Jaina tells him, heartfelt sincerity and the weight of the gift they’ve just been given in a safe place to stay turning her tone thick and deep as the fathomless sea. “We will do everything in our power to prove our worth to your cause.”

Apparently satisfied, Okani leaves them to their grim silence, and Jaina sighs, looking at where the sun approaches the horizon, hidden by the endless lip of water held just barely in check.

None of her time in Nazjatar has been spent idle, Jaina reflects, hefting her staff and preparing to fulfill her promise to Miri, and she suspects that will not change for quite some time.


	2. Part Two

Nightfall finds Genn at the ankoan campfire, with only the unsettling silence and residual shame for company.

Lisbette is gone on a preliminary patrol, maintaining the camp’s perimeter for her own peace of mind. Shandris had been given all the ankoan’s most recent information regarding naga movements, and they’d deemed her the obvious choice to potentially gain additional insight. Jaina is occupied at various points around the camp, never staying still for long, but Archdruid Grimm is hovering at the opposite edge of the camp, where another fire sits, tending the more minor wounds from the day’s catastrophe.

Ordinarily, Genn’s pride would not let him slink back to anyone with his tail between his legs, figuratively speaking, but today his pride has earned him nothing but faint bruising around his wrists and ankles from the Archdruid’s roots, and the sting of heat in his cheeks that says he’s well aware she was right to intervene in the first place. She had been a respected fixture in Gilneas for almost two decades before the Cataclysm, and a friend and ally to him in the years since, and to date her approval was one of the only ones he cared to maintain.

Tonight, he will place his pride one step lower on his priorities.

Rising from the fire, Genn sighs and walks towards the other side of the camp, and as he approaches, the Archdruid shifts back to human form, the silver strands in her sea of ebony hair highlighted by the flickering light, collapsing to an exhausted heap beside it. Before he can even speak, Jesselle begins, her gaze barely even moving away from the fire, “You owe Captain Shadeweaver an apology.”

Genn tenses immediately but refrains from letting his voice rise beyond an irritated snap, with effort. “ _ She _ provoked  _ me!” _

“After you implied that her reaction to her loss was childish, or unwarranted at the very least.” Jesselle looks up from the fire to meet his eyes. “Tell me: if someone had treated us like you treated her after we were forced to flee Gilneas–losing everything you knew, forced to adapt in a new situation–would you feel particularly inclined towards reacting civilly?”

“It’s not the same, and you are well aware.”

“Perhaps it’s not exactly the same,” Jesselle’s gaze sharpens, and Genn struggles not to wilt under it for the second time in one day, “but you lost your home, and now so has she. Twice over, for both of you, if you count Teldrassil. You have more in common than you want to admit.”

“I can’t believe you would imply that I have  _ anything _ in common with that  _ scoundrel _ –”

“You aren’t exactly known for following rules either. Or at least not following orders to the letter, if you remember Stormheim.”

Genn deflates with a heavy sigh and some of the fight leaves his posture, one arm folded over his chest with his face buried in the opposite hand. “Jesselle–”

“Now, I don’t necessarily condone how the captain handled things, either.” Jesselle’s face softens, and she rolls one shoulder idly as she says, “She doesn’t have the full context of the things you’ve been through, just as you don’t have the full context of the things she’s been through. I’m not saying you have to befriend her, but consider at least some kind of apology, and I will talk to the captain about offering the same.”

“I very much doubt the captain’s ego will let her.” Genn mutters in return.

“You know that Lady Jaina trusts her, and she isn’t one to put trust in people lightly.” Jesselle’s lip twitches up into a faint grin, deepening the lines on her face. “She might surprise you.”

Genn, skeptical, was ready to open his mouth to reply when Jaina’s sharp voice from closer to the middle of the camp cuts across it, ostensibly addressing someone else, “That’s a foolish idea and you know it.”

Exchanging a glance, Genn and Jesselle rise to their feet and peer around the second campfire’s glare, where Jaina is squaring off against Captain Shadeweaver, whose fists are planted upon her hips, gaze fixed firmly on the sand beneath her feet, her armor still stained red with the blood of her crewmate. “I’m not going to risk anyone else for this, Proudmoore,” comes the captain’s response, far more subdued than normal, “and I only have until morning before we start planning again. I won’t make it back in time if I don’t go now.”

“Going alone makes it very likely you won’t come back at  _ all _ .” Jaina’s voice drops, just enough to hear the tremor in it.

“And if I take someone with me,” the captain countered, “it’s likely I’d get them killed for my old ship and a few trinkets within. Sentimental trinkets, maybe, but trinkets nonetheless. I’ve been in plenty of tight spots by myself–I can handle it.”

“What’s going on here?” Genn asks as he walks out, with Jesselle at his heels, concern all but radiating off her.

Captain Shadeweaver lets out a breath as she turns to face him, her face weary and drawn. “I don’t have the energy to deal with you right now, Greymane.”

“She wants to go back to the  _ Tide _ ’s wreckage.” Jaina fills in what they missed of the argument. “Which carries a significant amount of risk on its own, but she wants to go by herself.”

“I already told you I won’t risk anyon–”

“I’ll go.”

Everything stops for a split second after Genn speaks, everyone shocked into silence–even himself–but then the captain snorts and makes a cutting gesture through the air. “No, no, no,  _ absolutely _ not–”

“You would stand a far better chance–” Jaina begins pointedly, but the captain interrupts.

“A better chance of what? Us ripping one another to shreds?” Captain Shadeweaver jabs a finger at him, as sharply as a blade. “I’d rather go alone, no matter the risk, than–”

“ _ Ismirah _ .” Jaina says, firm and hard, and the captain sighs again, the breath taking some of the fight from her lanky frame. “Your pride won’t serve you here. Either go with Greymane, or not at all.”

Silence settles over them while the captain and Jaina face off, but the latter is undeterred, and finally the captain makes a dismissive gesture with one hand. “Fine, have it your way, Proudmoore. You,” she points a finger at Genn, who stiffens, already regretting his hasty decision, “meet me by the infirmary when you can. I need to talk to my crew. Who’s left of them.”

And then she’s gone, and a cold stone of regret settles in Genn’s stomach. He turns to Jesselle, who arches a dark brow at him. “You’re a terrible influence. I think I see where Crowley’s gotten it from, now.”

The brow arches higher. “You might credit my influence, but the decision was yours. Darius has learned to recognize the value that comes in simply helping for the sake of it, without much help from me, I’ll have you know.” she pauses, and some of the tension lifts from her face as she quietly adds, “It’s a good thing you’re doing.”

“We’ll see if that’s still the case by the time we return.” Genn reaches for where his sword, sheathed in its leather sword belt, sits by the fire, though he doubts he’ll be using it much.

“Go on,” Jesselle gestures toward the structure where the wounded are recovering. “I doubt the captain will appreciate being kept waiting.”

The rest of the camp is silent as he passes through it, but he can hear the voices of their ankoan rescuers–speculating about the new arrivals, doubts about their skill. With effort, he tunes it out. Such concerns will only matter when the sun rises tomorrow, and he has more than enough to occupy his attention tonight.

At the infirmary, Genn leans his head around the entrance and sees Captain Shadeweaver kneeling beside the wounded high elf–Elanarel, if he remembers the name right–with her expression broken and raw and  _ furious _ , but there’s softness in it, too, and she strokes her hand across Elanarel’s forehead before turning to address the troll and goblin, apparently oblivious to his presence.

“I’m going back to the  _ Tide _ ,” she announces to them, “so if you want me to look for anything specific at the wreckage, now’s the time to tell me. Don’t know if we’ll get the chance to go back again after.”

Tzu’jai, the troll, is first to speak. “Dunno if they’ll still be there, but…my beads. Left ‘em with the rest of my effects below my hammock.”

“Your loa-blessed beads?” Captain Shadeweaver’s voice is sharp with surprise. “You weren’t carrying them before the fall?”

Tzu’jai shakes his head with a little self-deprecating smile, toothy and white. “Thought they’d be safer where I couldn’t lose ‘em in battle. Didn’t expect this to happen.”

“And if it hasn’t been taken, or broken,” Tixxi speaks up, “I want my toolkit back. I’d  _ just _ gotten my spanner collection organized as I wanted it.”

Captain Shadeweaver glances down at the unconscious Elanarel, with bandaging wrapped around her midsection, already stained red. “Any ideas what El would want?”

All three of them pause for a beat before all simultaneously saying, “Her romantic poetry book,” and Captain Shadeweaver adds, a smile in her voice, “though she’d kill us for calling it that.”

“Yeah, it’s her ‘composition’ notebook, right?” Tixxi snorts. “All prim and proper. She’s read us some of it, we know the truth.”

“Cap’n,” Tzu’jai speaks again, voice pitched lower this time, “what about Eastland?”

“I’ll look for him while I’m out there,” the captain replies after a brief hesitation, “but he could be anywhere by now. If the naga haven’t gotten him.”

Somber silence settles over the group for another beat before the captain pushes herself back to her feet, ruffling Tixxi’s bright red hair and clasping forearms with Tzu’jai, leaning down to brush her fingers over Elanarel’s forehead one more time. When she straightens, it’s with renewed purpose, and Genn makes no secret that he had been waiting for her, arms folded. For now, he decides not to admit he’d been present for her entire discussion with her crew, though something about watching her give her farewells to them struck some chord in Genn’s chest that he couldn’t quite identify.

_ That ship was my  _ **_home_ ** , she’d screamed at him, broken and devastated, and he was starting to gain some perspective on the true depth of that statement.

“Ready?” she asks him, cool and brisk, her face inscrutable once again–as inscrutable as someone like Captain Shadeweaver is capable of being.

“Let’s get on with it,” he finally tells her, but she seems undeterred by his lack of enthusiasm.

Their departure from the ankoan camp is unremarkable and unannounced, all by design, and the captain ensures they keep to the shadows when they leave the comforting light of the camp’s torches behind them. Genn follows her in human form for now, aware that he’s far more capable of stealth when he doesn’t present such a noticeable silhouette.

Almost an hour of subtle maneuvering passes before the captain calls a halt, hauling herself up atop a reef nearby, pulling a spyglass from her pocket–the same one as before the fall, when the two of them had bickered about her ship’s distance from the Horde vessels they pursued. Holding the spyglass aloft, Captain Shadeweaver lets out a breath. “I have good news and bad news.”

“And yet you waste time with dramatic posturing.”

She throws a glare down at him, eye narrowed, but doesn’t allow them to descend into an argument–Genn considers what Jesselle would have done, and the thought of her mildly reproachful gaze makes him wince internally. “I can see the shape of the  _ Tide _ from here. That’s the good news.”

“Fine. And I suppose we’ll have to fight through a battalion of naga to get there?”

“Worse, actually.” the captain tells him as she jumps down. “We’re going to have to  _ climb _ .”

* * *

Within her pack, Captain Shadeweaver has a grappling hook, but only one.

“It’s not as though I’ve ever  _ needed _ more than one.” she tells him scornfully when he remarks on the inconvenience of the fact. “There’s two ways we can go about this. I throw the hook and one of us goes up so they can hold it while the other one goes, or we can go together.”

“Is that hook even capable of holding more than one person?” he eyes the chain skeptically.

“Well, it’s held a full-grown draenei, troll, and night elf before,” the captain tells him, with a surprising hint of humor in her tone, “so unless you weigh more than a draenei and a troll combined–which I don’t believe you do, though you’re welcome to correct me if I’m wrong–then we ought to be golden.”

Without waiting for a response, the captain turns and spins the grappling hook several times to gain the necessary momentum before she throws, and it sails surprisingly high in the air before landing far above. Captain Shadeweaver tugs the hook with both feet planted, and it doesn’t budge, so she stands back and makes a dramatic gesture at the chain’s end. “After you,  _ your majesty _ .”

“You go,” Genn jerks his head towards the open valley behind them, refusing to let the remark get a rise out of him, “and I’ll watch your back.”

With a shrug, Captain Shadeweaver takes hold of the chain and finds clefts in the rock for her boots, testing her balance before she swiftly ascends. He supposes a scoundrel like her would be used to making quick escapes by climbing.

Only a few moments later, the captain peers down at him from the top of the cliff face, and makes a gesture that, from this distance, could either have been something obscene or an ‘all clear’ one. It would be all too easy to believe the former, but the captain is taking this situation far too seriously, it seems, for it to be likely. Taking hold of the chain, Genn considers shifting into worgen form for the added benefit of claws, and deems it worth the risk.

With claws, the climb is made far easier, and when he emerges over the top, Captain Shadeweaver all but falls over in shock, but recovers.

“Tides’ sake, you could have warned me you planned to shift before leaping over the cliff edge.” Shaking her head, she unhooks the grappling chain from the outcrop it landed on, wrapping it in a neat loop before tucking it back on her belt.

“I assume you know what direction we’re going now.” he hadn’t planned to shift into worgen form until later, if they ended up in a combat situation, but shifting back now seemed too vulnerable.

“Up there.” She jerks her head up at another outcrop, where he can see a faint glow of fire. “It’s a naga scouting camp. We’ll have to clear it out. I assume you won’t take issue with that.”

He can’t help the growl that builds up in his throat, but chokes it off, with effort. “Not in the slightest.”

“You know I’m aware what you are, Greymane.” Captain Shadeweaver arches a brow. “Growl if it makes you feel better. I hear letting that kind of thing out is better for you.”

“And just what would you know about worgen habits?” he snaps.

“I had two worgen on my crew.”

Out of everything she could have said, that statement is perhaps the most shocking. “You what? _ Who?” _

“I don’t expect you’d know their names offhand, but they were the Yeardley twins–Malinde and Millianne.” Captain Shadeweaver gets a bit of a distant look to her, as if remembering something from long ago. “Both of them were hard up for money when they crossed paths with me. Actually caught them trying to stow away on my ship. I offered them protection and work if they didn’t mind getting their hands a little dirty.”

“Well, you said ‘ _ had _ ’, so I suppose I can assume you got them killed.” Genn shoots back without thinking, but as soon as the words are out there, he feels the need to snatch them back.

Captain Shadeweaver goes still for a beat before her lip curls and her eye brightens with newly-reawakened fury. Her voice is controlled, mindful of the naga camp in the distance, but it carries an unmistakable current of fiery anger. “What are you doing here, Greymane, really? Because it seems to me you take pleasure in pouring salt in my wounds; maybe that’s why you’re here, where you can do it and not be interrupted by the Archdruid.”

“That’s not–” Genn hisses, but rustling in the reeds nearby cuts off the rest of his retort, and the captain’s ear twitches, listening.

Dead silence rests for a split second before they’re beset upon by what Genn thinks, at first glance, are  _ goblins _ , but they’re not quite the same–they have  _ fins _ where their ears would be, and their skin is a stark ocean blue compared to the typical goblin green.

But they’re also carrying weapons, and that is a far more pressing concern.

Captain Shadeweaver can hold her own in a fight, but Genn is keeping an ear on the naga scouting camp as he rips through their attackers–they seem unaware for now, but that won’t last forever.

Only a minute or so later, both of them have dispatched the ambush, and the captain casts another glance at the naga camp. “Better if we go around.”

“I suppose that means another climb,” Genn grouses, looking at the camp again and weighing the risks and benefits of attacking it anyway.

“Shorter one than the last one, at least.” the captain shrugs as she approaches the next cliff, spinning her hook. “And, for your information, I  _ didn’t _ get Mali and Millie killed–they wanted to leave and rejoin  _ your _ forces under Lorna Crowley. They weren’t beholden to me, so I wished them well, and they left.”

“You didn’t want them to stay?”

She laughs a little, shaking her head. “Impossible to win with you, it seems… Of course I wanted them to stay, Greymane. But they’re family, and part of having a family is knowing when to let them fly the nest. My draenei crewman, Lusselo, he wanted to leave and undergo lightforging, to join the Army of the Light, so he left, too. And Kyrian, my first mate, he…” the captain trails off, seemingly lost in thought, then changes her train of dialogue. “I miss them all, but it wouldn’t be right of me to hold them where they would only make  _ me _ happy.” She pauses, then shakes her head, sharper this time. “Don’t know why I’m trying to explain it to  _ you _ …”

“And if the rest wanted to leave?” He doesn’t know why he feels the need to challenge Captain Shadeweaver over this, of all things, but there’s a part of him that struggles to accept the lifestyle herself and her crew–vagabonds and miscreants, all of them–built for themselves.

She shrugs, a frustratingly casual gesture. “I’d miss them, and wish them well.”

“That’s it?”

“Look, what do you want from me, Greymane?” Suddenly angry again, the captain stalks up to him and points a finger at his chest, not directly touching him yet. “You think this is the first time I’ve lost crew members? I’ve been sailing for over a thousand years, and none of my friends have ever been people that typically live as long as I do. Loss is part of the package. I can choose to cling to it and let it consume me, or I can open myself up to new possibilities, an idea that  _ you _ seem to find absolutely abhorrent.”

“That’s not–you know  _ nothing _ about me.”

“Maybe not, but I don’t particularly care to find out when you’ve done nothing but be condescending to me at best and downright  _ cruel _ at worst.” Captain Shadeweaver’s voice is hot with anger, but trembles at its breaking point, and it brings Genn up short. “And you never answered my question, by the way–what  _ are _ you doing here? _ Answer me!” _

The tension between them is ready to burst once more into something ugly and vicious, and that is exactly the opposite of what this excursion was supposed to achieve. After the captain’s hotly-spoken words, Genn knows he has mere seconds to come up with a way to stop what little restraint they have left from shattering and do  _ something _ right– _ someone _ has to cast pride aside and in this case he knows it must be him to do so first, and that means–

“I’m sorry, Ismirah.”

Whether it’s the apology itself or the use of her full first name that throws her the most off-kilter is a matter for debate, but she chokes and stumbles like the words physically leave her reeling.  _ “What?” _ she manages, most of the fire gone from her voice now.

“I’m sorry.” the words have unfamiliar shapes on Genn’s tongue, and there’s something shameful in that too, but he perseveres.  _ You have more in common than you want to admit,  _ Jesselle had said, and maybe it was time to acknowledge the truth in that, too, “It was wrong of me to dismiss your loss. You’re right, after all: I, out of everyone, ought to know what that feels like. That doesn’t excuse what I said, and how I think I must have been treating you, but…”

Some of the hard, angry lines in her face have softened, if not faded away completely, but she sighs and looks away for a moment, and her words have begrudgingly lost their fight. “It’s a start.”

Silence sits again, and begs for something to fill it, but for a long moment, neither of them leaps to the challenge. “I think…” Genn begins again, then stops, shakes his head. Captain Shadeweaver is watching him, though, paying attention far more than he suspects she has been in their past conversations, though not without valid reason, and he steels himself. “I think I struggle to understand only because your lifestyle is very…unknown to me. And what I do know of it is not…morally sound.”

“You won’t offend me by speaking the truth, Greymane.” Captain Shadeweaver arches a brow. “I’m very familiar with the fact myself and my crew have done things that hurt or killed others in the name of profit. There were lines I never crossed, lines I forbade my people to cross, but it doesn’t change the truth.”

“I suppose I just didn’t understand how others would see that kind of life and think to follow you in it.” he admits, finally, and hopes the blunt honesty of it will be enough to, if nothing else, earn an equally honest answer from the captain in return.

With a sigh, however, she jerks her head towards the cliff face, twirling her grappling hook. “Come on.”

Strangely, Genn finds himself disappointed, but shakes the feeling off as the captain swings her hook, letting it catch on something far above before swiftly ascending once more. Taking hold of the chain in one clawed worgen hand and using the other to stabilize his climbing position, Genn follows in the captain’s shadow, but she vanishes over the edge before he reaches the top.

With a sudden shift of stone and sand, the chain comes loose, and Genn’s heart stops for a beat when he sees the hook sail over the edge with it, catching a smaller outcrop at the last second.

A hand lunges over the edge, and in a split second Genn is reminded inexplicably of a reverse situation at the Broken Shore, offering Varian Wrynn a hand back onto the gunship. Once bitter rivals, they had parted as respected friends. This situation is vastly different in so many other ways, but the reminder is there, as well, of the ways they might be similar.

Captain Shadeweaver’s free hand must be holding something to give her balance, but her other one is close enough to reach him, brows pinched with effort. Shifting back into human form, and praying the sudden shift in weight won’t cause the chain to fall completely, he slaps his hand into the captain’s, and she heaves as his boot struggles for purchase on the stone.

“Damn, you’re a chunky bastard,” the captain gasps while she pulls, and it’s such an  _ absurd _ thing to say, undoubtedly the most absurd thing Genn has been called in his long life, that it’s all he can do not to let go of her hand in sudden shock.

“I beg your pardon?” he asks, struggling not to  _ laugh _ , of all things, at the utter silliness of the situation, despite there being very little to laugh at while the captain is the only thing keeping him from meeting his end down the long, long cliff face.

“You’re  _ heavy, _ ” she clarifies, looking down at him with a critical eye, but it doesn’t feel mocking, more joking. “You sure you don’t weigh as much as a draenei and a troll combined?”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure you’re quite enamored of your own wit,” he can feel the captain’s lower arm muscle flexing as she pulls, and he adjusts his perception of her capabilities–she  _ is _ far stronger than she looks, “though I would very much appreciate returning to solid ground.”

“Doing my best here.” the captain mutters, and finally Genn’s boot catches on a suitable foothold, and he hauls himself up over the edge with her aid.

Above them looms the split-open wreck of the  _ Silent Tide _ , cast in moonlight and leaving long shadows over the sand. Captain Shadeweaver doesn’t turn to it immediately, though, sitting on the edge of the cliff with her boots dangling over the edge.

“It’s safe,” she tells him before he can ask, and with a mildly skeptical grunt, he sits at her left side, the one she can still see from. “Don’t kill me for saying this, but I think you can be kind of narrow-minded.”

His scowl doesn’t seem to faze her–her expression doesn’t change except for a slight twitch of one ear. “I hope you would care to elaborate.”

“I would.” Captain Shadeweaver shifts where she sits and fixes her gaze on the valley they just traversed. “You see a way of life you don’t understand and, as far as I can tell, immediately dismiss it if it doesn’t fit in with your perception of how life should go. Now, granted, piracy isn’t the lifestyle for everyone, and it has its features that make it obvious why some would disapprove.” Drawing a pattern in the sand with one fingertip, she continues despite Genn’s sullen but thoughtful silence. “People don’t go into piracy unless they’re either desperate and have nothing left to lose, or have nowhere to go. In my experience, the two usually go hand in hand.

“Some might say they went into it for the thrills, for the gold, and superficially they might believe that’s true. But what do thrills and gold buy you? Thrills might get you an adrenaline high, but it’s also a distraction from whatever other weight you’re carrying. Gold? Well–that can buy you a whole new life, if you have enough of it, but it won’t buy happiness.”

“I doubt it’s always that meaningful.” Genn can feel his skepticism deepening his scowl.

“Oh, certainly–some are magpies, who like the gold just for its glitter and the thrills because they’re too stupid to do anything else. But sometimes it  _ is _ that meaningful.” Drumming her fingers on the rocky ground below her hands, Captain Shadeweaver still hasn’t turned to look at him directly, but her gaze isn’t focused on the valley anymore, either–she looks, again, like she’s a thousand leagues away. “All of my crew, as they stood before I joined the Alliance? None of them joined me for money, or for thrills.

“Tzu was the first of the current crew to join–a loner from the Shatterspear who never fit in with the rest of his people. He did mercenary work for me a few times before I convinced him to become part of my official crew. Tix? A former tinkerer for a Trade Prince in training, before he was deposed, and she found herself without a roof over her head or a job, to boot. Lusselo was self-exiled from the  _ Exodar _ in support of another draenei who self-exiled, Lady Allara Talaan. El’s past is debatably the darkest–her mother ran off to join the Cult of the Damned after the Scourge hit Quel’Thalas, leaving just her and her older sister, Kassela. Both of them took on new names when they left; couldn’t stand the weight their old name carried. Too many people recognized it, knew it for what it was. They stayed with me together for a time, then Kass took off to join the Argent Crusade.

“I offered them a new beginning, and while it certainly wasn’t the beginning most people might have taken, it was enough for them.” Captain Shadeweaver finishes, shaking her head a little before turning to address him directly once again. “Family is what you choose, the people who choose you, regardless of blood. Losing any of them is…” Captain Shadeweaver buries her face in one hand, and Genn is reminded of her last conversation with her crew, before they left, regarding her missing crewman, Eastland.

“Did any of the 7th Legion see your missing man?” Genn asks, quieter than normal.

Her silence is the only answer given, but it is answer enough. “Eastland is…a special case,” she says, her voice more hoarse again. “I met Eastland when he was ten years old, orphaned, or abandoned, maybe–he never told me the whole story–on the docks of Gadgetzan. Eking out a living by pickpocketing travelers to the settlement and occasional work for merchants around town. That’s how I met him, actually,” Captain Shadeweaver laughs a little, a sad and hollow one, “when he tried to pickpocket me. Little cutpurse almost got away with it, too. I asked him what he was doing out there alone, and he told me,  _ ‘none of your business, melon-face’ _ .”

Genn snorts and coughs to cover up his sudden laugh. “‘Melon-face’?”

“Yeah, I never asked if that was a Gadgetzan-specific insult or if it was something he came up with on his own. “Captain Shadeweaver’s grin is wider now, more open. “Never stayed long enough to find out. I told him if he wanted to go anywhere else–an orphanage, or something–he could come with me.”

“So…you took him with you then?”

“Oh, no,” Captain Shadeweaver drapes one leg over the other, “that was actually the place a rival pirate gang ambushed me and my crew, separated us, stole my ship, and damn near took us for fools. I almost died from a poison blade, but it turns out spending a lot of time on Tanaris’ docks meant Eastland–Doric–knew a thing or two about native poisons, and how to treat them. Kid saved my damn life. When I managed to gather my crew again and steal the  _ Tide _ back, he made sure to tell me he’d only saved our hides, his words, because we owed him a damn ride wherever the hell he wanted to go. He’s been with us ever since–ten years ago now.

It’s in the quiet after her story that Genn is hit by an obvious truth. “He’s like a son to you.”

Her laugh is shocked and short, mocking, but not to him. “If someone like me is ever going to be capable of something resembling parenthood, then I suppose what I have with Doric is as close as I’ll ever get.”

In the shadow of the  _ Tide _ , with the weight of the captain’s previously-unseen layers of depth between them, Genn says, “I’m sorry, Ismirah.”

“You told me so already–though I won’t object to hearing it again.”

“I didn’t understand what it meant, for me to say what I did back there.” Genn folds his arms and watches the valley again–he can see the captain doing the same out of the corner of his eye. “I still shouldn’t have said it, but I especially shouldn’t have said it, knowing what I know now.”

“No, you didn’t understand–not many do, or even try to.” the captain’s shrug belies the weight of the admission. “But I know I still dug up things that were better left buried, and crossed lines I shouldn’t have. I…I know you lost your son, when you fled Gilneas. I’m sorry that I was so callous about it.”

Liam’s death is an ache in Genn’s chest that will never fully fade, a wound that will never fully close, but he has his ways of bandaging them–he has his sister Lisbette, his daughter Tess, he has Mia, who has been at his side through everything, he has Crowley and Jesselle, two of his oldest allies even though much has changed, in the years since Northgate, about what that means. Thinking back to the outburst they’d both shared only earlier today, it seems like such a foolish, childish thing to give in to. “I accept your apology.”

“And I accept yours.” Captain Shadeweaver pushes herself to her feet. “Now let’s crack on with this before I lose my nerve.”


End file.
